tampered | [Log] [Ongoing]

Current Mood: distressed

[Log] [Ongoing]

When; November 27; Slug day~ ♥
Rating; PG-13 (just to be on the safe side~)
Characters; Namine [

afleetingshadow], Kratos [

daddyhaswings], Yuan [

wingedrenegade] and Mithos [

heartxofxcruxis]
Summary; A seraphim, a small girl, a slugged last boss. Things were looking good on this curse day.
Log;

He was in pain. That, Mithos knew. Whatever else he did or felt, didn't quite register to him as his own beyond that. Someone else was crying and crying and calling out for Martel repeatedly. Someone was desperately trying to get as far as his feet could take him without falling down. Someone was sad. Someone, who wasn't him, only wished to be with Martel.

Mithos was still in pain.

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Namine bit her lip, a nervous habit she had fallen into lately. The boy, Mithos, had finally woken up, and for a while, things had looked up. She hoped to get some water in him, maybe give him another blanket, and then see him get better again.

But she had never been sick before, or seen people get sick. And now Mithos was talking about someone named Martel, and she didn't know what to do.

So she just bit her lip again, crossing her fingers nervously behind her back.

Please, she thought. Please let him get better. Let him be okay.

Watching her quietly, Kratos couldn't help but feel for the girl. sheobviously was out of her area, and rather upset. If it were another situation, if it wasn't Mithos, he would have taken her aside and tried to do give her at least some words of comfort.

But it was Mithos. The boy who he, in all their 4,000+ years of knowing another, had NEVER been sick. Not like this.

The reality of the situation terrified him on a base level. Angels didn't get SICK. Especially not Mithos. Not him, never him.

Eyes turning back to the small, deceptively frail body curled on the bed, he sighed. This...would be a long, long day.

Namine looked over at Kratos, her eyes uncertain.

"I should just...let him sleep, right?" she asked, hoping that she didn't sound simple, like she didn't understand the most basic of things.

Because if he wakes up, I'll hear about Martel again, she thought nervously. She wondered who Martel was, because Mithos had told her that someone had killed her. But she tried not to think about that.

Everyone had their secrets, things they couldn't talk about. And if she hadn't heard about her before, then she probably wasn't supposed to know.

Mithos opened his eyes, still hazy from the pain and unfocused. "Martel?" he whispered quietly when he noticed a blur in the distance. Yellow. Martel's hair was... was it blonde?

"Martel..."

Sucking in a silent breath, Kratos reached out to the smaller angel. So, he was awake.

"Mithos--" He tried, about to tell him whatever he could, to yell at him for getting sick, to tell him that he was safe, to say something, but his words were cut off by the sound of that name.

Of course.

"She's not here ...Mithos." Kratos kept his voice soft, trying to soothe even though he had no idea how. This had always been Martel's thing, she was the one who had the warmth, the kindness for this.

Mithos sniffed. That voice; it was so familiar, and yet, not. He lifted his hands to reach out, to touch something, to feel warmth because he was feeling nothing but the freezing cold.

"Martel...martel..don't die... don't die... she's not dead.. not dead.... with me... always.....why isn't she here...?" he began murmuring before thrashing on the bed violently. He wanted Martel. He needed to feel her beside him... needed to know that she was still with him...

Reaching to grab one of the boy's too small, almost delicate hands in his own, Kratos tried to remember how Martel had been, how Anna had been in times like these. When people needed comfort, needed support. He had never been good at these things.

His other hand went to carefully, ginger and hesitent as if the boy would turn to bite his fingers, settling on top of the fine blonde hair, stroking Mithos' head in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "Shh..."

It took him longer to get to the apartment than he had anticipated. The explosion, apparently, had done more damage then he thought. Still, there was no time to worry about that. The wounds, though severe, would heal. He did take the time to wrap up the worst of them (albeit sloppily), and his left arm was nearly useless at the moment, but he had greater concerns at the moment.

A stumble brought him to Namine's door, and he looked twice at the number to be sure it was the correct one. Kratos had told him this was where they were, but this City had a tendency to turn a person around. Left arm held to his chest, Yuan lifted his right hand and wrapped smartly on the wood, shifting his weight as he impatiently waited for it to be open.

Mithos began whimpering as he clung onto the warmth that had been offered to him. He began to calm down and though the pain was still unbearable, there was that tiny little warmth and it comforted him a bit. Reminded him of Martel.

And then there were knocks on the wooden door of the apartment. Not loud enough to the normal person, but in his state, it seemed loud, much too loud. He let go of the hand curled up into a tight ball, crying out as each knock seemed to be punctuated by a sharp hammering pain in his head.

He had almost smiled, then, when Mithos curled into his awkward comforting. It brought him some comfort, at least, to know that he could soothe the smaller boy when he needed to.

The knocking ruined the moment, though. Oh, he was going to THROTTLE whoever kept that up. Didn't they know people were sick and in pain in here? Stomping to the door, he threw it open, all ready to get out his sword...

Until he saw who it was, that is. "Yuan."

Yuan stopped knocking moments before Kratos threw the door open, a wave of vertigo washing over him that forced a halt to his impatience. His palm had instead moved to the door frame, head bowed as he waited for the spinning to stop. It took a second for the man to lift his head, hair falling haphazardly across his face as he did so. It did little to hide the bright bruise slashing his cheek, or the split in his lip.

"Kratos," He returned, as was expected, offering a small, wry smile. It didn't keep, though, and he pushed from the door, moving to step into the apartment. "How is he?" The question came immediately after, the angel not bothering with formalities.

Well, this was awkward. He hadn't really expected it to be any less, really. It still was odd, though, looking at his former-friend, beat up and cute up like nobodyies business, not knowing what to say.

"He's...in here." What else was he supposed to say? There wasn't much for them to talk about, not NOW. Formalities could wait until after the miniature crisis was over.

Little else had to be said. Once pointed in the right direction, Yuan took the intiative, as he always did. He didn't wait for Kratos to lead the way, instead moving passed him, beelining for the bed where the boy lay curled up.

Setting eye on him, though, Yuan's expression turned carefully blank. Mithos, curled up like that.. crying. He was this side of being a God. After seeing him high and powerful for so long, it had been easy to forget (convince himself?) that the blonde didn't have those kinds of emotions anymore.

It unsettled him, deeply.

The brisk of his step slowed as he moved to the edge of the bed and paused, unsure of what to do, what to say.

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[Log] [Ongoing]

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